


Pecan Pie

by pquill



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes-centric, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, Did I Mention Fluff, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, I'm not kidding it's ridiculously fluffy, M/M, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, literally entirely fluff, purely self-indulgent coffee shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 19:35:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15979016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pquill/pseuds/pquill
Summary: "I don't need a boyfriend," Bucky said, because it was true. "I'm perfectly happy as I am.""But you could be even happier, if you just let me help," Nat whined."I have everything I need," he replied.Unfortunately for Bucky, on one cold, wintry January afternoon, he realized just how wrong he was.OR, the purely self-indulgent coffee shop AU no one asked for.





	Pecan Pie

The cafe wasn't the biggest, nor was it the most popular, but Bucky was sure that it had the most charm. The mahogany floorboards were stained with the tattoos of time, and the pale yellow wallpaper was peeling at the edges, and the books on the shelf in the corner were practically decaying with age, yet the home-style menu and friendly atmosphere tied it all together. From the overstuffed armchairs to the family-like comradery between the staff, it just felt comforting and warm. To Bucky, it felt like home.

Behind the counter, making coffee and arguing playfully with Natasha - this was where he felt most at peace. He'd spent so much of his life trying to find somewhere he belonged,  _too_  much of his life, and it was with a soft smile and a bite of his complimentary muffin that he realized he'd found it. He'd said as much to Nat, who dished out some sarcastic comment about his sentimentality, but Bucky knew from the glint in her eye and the curve of her lips that she loved him.

That love was a bittersweet thing, Bucky found. Because while it meant that she would frequently show up uninvited with pizza like she psychically knew he was feeling down, and defended him from angered customers who had nothing better to do than yell at their barista ("who the hell put soy milk in my soy chai latte?" and "there's  _nuts_  in the peanut butter cookies?" would always be Bucky's favourite complaints), it also meant that she was constantly pestering him to let her set him up on dates.

"It's my legal duty as your best friend," she said, chin tilted up defiantly. Arms crossed over her chest and glaring down the bridge of her nose, anyone else would feel threatened by her, but not Bucky. Perhaps that was why they got along so well, because they were both so stubborn and unfazed by the other's attempts at intimidation. "I know a guy, a friend of Tony's-"

"I don't need a boyfriend," Bucky replied, because it was true. "I'm perfectly happy as I am."

"But you could be even  _happier_ , if you just let me help," Nat whined.

Bucky refrained from snapping something about how not everyone could find someone like Bruce, as not to prove her point. "I have everything I need," he settled for.

Unfortunately for Bucky, on one cold, wintry January afternoon, he realized just how wrong he was.

It started like any other Tuesday. Quiet, and Natasha's day off, so it was just Bucky and Clint behind the counter. The latter was notorious for misspelling names due to his partial deafness, so Bucky was working the register. He generally preferred making coffee and wrapping sandwiches and cleaning dishes and anything that  _wasn't_  customer service, but Clint had gotten so many complaints that he was currently on a one-month register ban, must to his discontent. Bucky was half certain that Clint was purposefully messing up the coffees now, so Tony would have no choice but to allow him his old job back (because everyone knew the man was too attached to his staff to ever fire anyone).

So there Bucky was, offering pointless small talk and denying the barista's plentiful requests to be allowed to take orders again. He was just about tired of the monotonous grind (don't mind the pun) of conversation, counting down the minutes until closing at six, when the bell on the door rang. He lifted his head, ready to spout the generic 'hi there, welcome to Stark's, how can I help you today?' when his breath caught in his throat.

Because before him stood the most gorgeous man he had ever laid his eyes upon, a blinding smile on his face that gave the  _sun_  a run for it's money. Bucky couldn't help the way his jaw dropped or his gaze dragged up and down the stranger's body. How could he  _not_  stare at that broad chest, and broader shoulders, and chiseled jaw? The neat blonde of his hair, the obscenely tight fit of his shirt, the ocean blue of his sparkling eyes, those  _arms_? Even through that thick winter coat it was clear they were impressive. Bucky was lost before he could even think about it.

"Hello," the man said cheerily, and by  _God_  was his voice deep. Sweet, too, Bucky thought. Like molasses. "Could I get an Americano, please. And, uh..." He trailed off as he scanned the cabinet of pastries, allowing Bucky a few precious seconds to piece himself back together. But the customer's gentle blue eyes flickered up to Bucky far too quickly, and he lost his breath again. "Any recommendations?"

"I, um..." Bucky exhaled deeply, willing himself to calm down. This was just another customer. He was working. There was no need to get his panties in a twist. "The cherry danishes are pretty good?"

The man smiled again. Bucky could have sworn time stopped. "Then I'll get one of those, too."

Bucky rang up his total, handing over the change and not allowing himself to brush his fingers against the blonde's like a teenage girl. At the last second, just as the man was about to go sit at a table, Bucky stupidly blurted out "you got a name? For the, uh... order."

"Steve," the man - Steve - said, lips quirked up at the corners. He, thankfully, didn't seem to notice the lack of other customers, and therefore lack of need for his name, or the fact that he wasn't getting takeaway so there was literally no reason for Bucky to need it, just glanced down at Bucky's nametag with a glint in his eye. "It's nice to meet you,  _Bucky_."

Then he went and sat down, pulling a battered notebook from his messenger bag, leaving Bucky swooning behind the counter.

"Bucky!" Clint yelled, and Bucky got the impression that it wasn't the first attempt at gathering the cashier's attention. He turned to look at his friend, and regretted doing so immediately, because Clint was wearing a telltale smirk and Bucky realized instantly that this was all going to get back to Natasha. "You done drooling yet? Man, Nat is going to  _die_  when she hears about this," he said predictably.

All Bucky had to offer in return was a frown, because he knew that threatening him was not going to stop Nat from finding out that he had just encountered the most beautiful human he had ever seen (and, most likely, would ever see). All he could do now was steel himself for the painful experience he was in for. He took Steve's coffee from Clint - checking first that it was the right drink - before taking it and the danish over to the table by the window.

It's a goddamn  _miracle_  that he didn't trip over his own feet on the way over. He placed the plate and saucer down lightly, as not to disturb the man, because he was drawing - goddamn it, he was  _drawing_  - and looking absolutely stunning doing so. But Steve looked up anyway, and Bucky hadn't prepared himself for the heartwarming smile that he received, although perhaps he should have. "Um, Americano and cherry danish for Steve," he said stupidly, as if there was any chance that this was the wrong customer. He internally cringed at himself.

"Thank you, Bucky," Steve grinned with a pleased expression, as if remembering a name for five minutes warranted praise. Bucky decided that it did, as of that moment, purely because of how his name sounded rolling off those lips.

"Yeah, no problem," said Bucky, proud of himself for stringing a sentence together. He even managed to smile back and attempt another with a vague gesture to the sketchbook on the table. "An artist, huh?"

Steve nodded. Then he twisted his pencil between his fingers, considering. "Well, trying to be. I teach Fine Art and Art History at the local college, but I try to sketch and paint when time permits."

"That's awesome, man. I've always admired artists. Especially since I have little to no talent whatsoever," Bucky joked, and he was rewarded with a melodic laugh that melted his bones. If Clint hadn't been shooting a text to Natasha before, he sure as hell would be now as Bucky gripped the edge of the table for support.

"I'm sure you're very talented, Bucky." And there was an undecipherable glint in his eye that disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. The blonde broke eye contact, which was definitely for the best because he picked up his coffee and took a sip.

Bucky probably could have watched him for hours, days, weeks, if it hadn't been for the ringing of the stupid door. He looked over and saw Clint fighting an internal battle, deciding whether to risk Tony's wrath and serve the customers or not. Bucky sighed. "I should probably, uh..." He pointed in the general direction of the counter and Steve nodded again with a cute little chuckle. Bucky grinned back. Maybe he even looked suave. Of course, he quickly scuttled back to the safety of the register, but that could be excused.

About half an hour later, Steve was finished, and he took his dishes up to the counter so that Bucky wouldn't have to go collect them, and yeah, Bucky was gone on him already. If he blushed like a schoolgirl when the blonde said goodbye, that was nobody's business. (Except Clint's, apparently, who teased him relentlessly until his shift was over.)

Natasha was about as insufferable as was expected the next day, nudging Bucky every time someone even remotely blonde or ripped entered the cafe. She was his best friend, and he would be absolutely lost without her, but God did she push his buttons.

"Come on, Nat," Bucky whined, though he knew protest was pointless. She was stubborn, and Bucky barely ever showed interested in anyone, so there was no way to shake her off now that she was invested. Damn Clint and his inability to shut the hell up. "Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything." Nat batted her eyelashes, and a lesser man would have fallen for her faux innocence. Bucky was not a lesser man, and scoffed at her, staring at the counter he was stress-cleaning with an unhappy frown. Stress-cleaning was a common activity for him, much to all of his coworkers' delights.

"I've met him  _once_. That's hardly cause for celebration."

"From what Barton told me, you were mooning over him the whole time he was in here."

"Was not."

"James, Ryan Reynolds came into the store yesterday. And you didn't even  _notice_."

Bucky paused, scrubbing thoughtfully at the counter. "'S not like I'm expecting him to come back, Nat," he sighed. She softened beside him, slight enough that it was barely noticeable. "This is just some run-down cafe owned by a rich asshole. Why would  
he come back?"

"To see the cute cashier, obviously."

Bucky fixed her a look, and that was it. He continued about his day, chatting easily and basking in the safety of the cafe. Tony came by around midday with all of his ridiculous suave and expensive attire, flashing a wink to anyone and everyone in his way. Each member of his staff scoffed at him playfully, taking harmless jabs at him the way they always did. It was friendly and familiar and Bucky felt comfortable again.

At least, until three rolled around, because lo and behold, there Steve was, shyly stepping through the doorway in all his muscular glory. He looked even better than yesterday, Bucky thought, because the worn brown leather jacket he was wearing hugged him in all the right places and  _God_  did Bucky love a boy in combat boots. And then he  _smiled_  and Bucky thought he'd faint because it was so bright and sweet and - he should probably say something rather than gaping like a goddamn fish.

"Hi, welcome back! It's Steve, right?" Bucky chirped, hoping he didn't sound too enthusiastic. From the way Nat's head whipped around, he could tell he'd failed. He ignored her.

"Yeah, it is," Steve said, and was he ever  _not_  smiling? "Got any new recommendations for me today, Bucky?"

"Apple pie? Not even out of the oven yet, so it'll be hot and as fresh as is physically possible."

"Sounds good. I'll take that and an Americano, please."

Bucky rang up the total again, and didn't let their fingers brush again, and averted his eyes awkwardly again, and as Steve retreated to the same table he'd sat at the day before, Bucky found himself hoping that the man would become a regular. Not just because he was a pretty face, but also because there were many days when Bucky really needed a smile. He'd even put up with Natasha's teasing for it. Speaking of which, as if on cue, the redhead sidled up next to him, an arm lazily slinging around his shoulders. "So that's loverboy, huh?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Natasha," he scolded, gently shoving her away. As much as she annoyed him, they were best friends, and even though the redhead was tough as nails Bucky knew that his prosthetic arm was much stronger than he expected most of the time. She looked at him with a small smirk and eyes that said  _you big softie_. Sentimentality was never her strong point, but Bucky felt appreciated nonetheless.

"He's cute," she purred. Bucky no longer felt appreciated. "You should totally go talk to him."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

" _No_."

" _Yes_!"

"Shut up," Maria said, emerging from the kitchen. She handed Natasha a plate containing a steaming apple pie with an aroma so fruity and delicious that Bucky's mouth watered. He was extremely thankful for the interference, because God knows they could have gone on all day. Natasha looked ready to turn her stubborn front onto Maria, but the stony-faced brunette was not having it, preparing to leave immediately. Just as Maria turned on her heel to head back to the kitchen, her usually serious face gained a mischievous glint. "Although, for the record, Bucky, I think you should definitely go talk to him."

Bucky groaned and Natasha punched him in the arm.

There was no way he could possibly stop her from forcing him to deliver the pie and coffee, so he bit the bullet and carried the plates over. "Apple pie, hot and fresh as promised."

Steve looked up from his sketch. It depicted the view from the window he sat by in remarkable detail, with blurred figures on their daily commute and soft-looking snow falling.  _Great_ , Bucky thought.  _Beautiful_ and  _talented. I'm so screwed_.

"God, that smells amazing. Thank you," Steve exasperated.

Bucky waved his hand absently. "If you think that's good, you should try the pecan pie. It's absolute heaven."

"Pecan's my favourite." Steve's ocean blue eyes did not leave Bucky's for a second as he spoke, and the brunet was having trouble breathing.

"Mine too," he squeaked. Then he averted his gaze, willing his heart to slow down because he was certain that Nat could sense that kind of thing. "I was gonna ask Maria to make one tomorrow anyway, so if you come in again, I'll save you a slice. Uh, I mean, only if you want-"

"I'll be here at two," Steve said with a lopsided grin.

"I'll make sure it's hot," Bucky managed to utter, giving an odd little wave before promptly evacuating the scene. He ducked over to the portion of the counter that he knew was out of Steve's line of sight and proceeded to press his forehead roughly against the cool granite. And of  _course_  he knocked over the tip jar, because when was Bucky ever lucky enough to not make a fool of himself? The coins within made the absolute loudest noise possible as they rolled off the bench and clattered all over the floor. Sighing dramatically as he picked up the change, Bucky wondered idly when he'd become this pathetic.

"You're pathetic, Barnes," Natasha drawled, reading his mind as usual, and he didn't have to look up to know that she was wearing a smirk on her scarlet lips.

"Yeah, yeah. You gonna help me or what?"

"With the coins? No. I  _can_  help you choose an outfit for your not-date tomorrow, though..."

Bucky groaned. "Of  _course_ you were eavesdropping. You are the bane of my existence, I hope you know that."

"I revel in the fact every day," she hummed, and Bucky wanted to kick her behind the knees so he could watch her spill coffee all over her dumb apron. He decided against it, because he didn't have a death-wish, but the thought made him smile.

Steve spent the next hour in the shop sketching passersby, occasionally meeting Bucky's gaze from across the room. Bucky flushed with embarrassment each time, but it didn't stop his eyes from continuously wandering over to the window table. Steve was  _magnetic_  and Bucky just couldn't look away. It was at four that Bucky really lost his mind, because the blonde brought him his dishes again and said 'see you tomorrow,' and damn it if it wasn't the best thing Bucky had ever heard.

"He's smitten," Natasha said, phone pressed to her ear. "It's disgusting."

"I am not," complained Bucky. He wondered if she was talking to Clint or Bruce. Maybe even Tony, though he shuddered at the thought.

Nat pressed her phone to her chest, shooting him an unforgiving smirk. "Then how did you know I was talking about you?"

Damn. She was good. Bucky threw a tea towel at her and said it was because he was a psychic, but they both knew who'd won that argument.

She placed the phone back by her ear and resumed her conversation. "How the hell did you manage to lose your dog in the thirty seconds I wasn't talking to you?"

Right, so it was Clint. Bucky could live with that.

Thick blankets of snow were falling the next day, which did nothing to soothe Bucky's nerves. It was pretty and all, the pure white that powdered the streets, but it definitely seemed like enough to make one forget about a certain slice of pecan pie. Bucky had taken to stress-cleaning the glass display case by half past one, and rearranging the bookshelf by quarter to. Maria was making fun of him as he supervised her placing the dessert in the oven under the guise of restocking the chocolate chip cookie jar, but whatever.

Then at two on the dot, he was there.

Bucky was rendered speechless at the snowflakes in his hair, and the few balanced delicately on his ridiculous lashes. And, somehow, his eyes were bluer than the day before. The 'heya, Steve' he tried to say came out a few octaves too high, but it was okay because Nat wasn't listening (she was chastising Clint about bringing his dog to work, to which he rebutted with 'but he brings good fortune!').

"Hi," Steve said with his usual cheer, and there was that smile again. Bucky felt weak in the knees. "Americano, please, once again, and I hope you remembered my pecan pie."

"Of course I did," Bucky scoffed in faux offence, but his blush probably gave him away. "It'll be ready in five."

"Can't wait." Steve handed over his crumpled notes, and Bucky handed most of them back. The blonde looked down at the money in his hand with an adorably confused look, before glancing up at the cashier. "Uh, I think you undercharged me."

"Nah, pie's on the house. After all, it's so delicious that you'll probably be back."

"Confident, huh?" Steve cocked his head to the side with a grin. "I hope you know that I expect this to be the best damn pie I've ever eaten."

"You won't be disappointed. Maria's like a magician or something," Bucky said. He could feel Natasha's eyes boring into the back of his head, and he could see Clint's goofy stance against the coffee machine in his peripheral, but he wasn't going to let his dumb friends ruin the longest conversation he'd ever had with a Greek god. "I dunno how well the college pays, but it's probably not enough to support the pecan pie addiction you're about to get. It's the least I can do to ease you into the debt."

The laugh Steve let out was rich and real, and he gripped his chest with one hand. Bucky couldn't help the fond smile he adopted. "Let's hope I don't have to take up teaching evening classes to pay my rent," he said eventually, before walking over to the window seat. Bucky watched him go like the hopeless sap he was.

"Oh, isn't he simply dreamy?" Natasha crooned in a ridiculous Southern accent.

"Why, he's like an  _angel_ ," contributed Clint, hand on his forehead as if he were about to pass out.

"Those eyes." Nat draped herself over the counter. She was lucky there were no customers, and even luckier that Bucky was certain he couldn't beat her in hand-to-hand combat.

"That  _body_." Clint narrowly missed the jars of cookies as he collapsed against the pastry display.

"I'm in  _love_!" They exclaimed in unison.

Bucky crossed his arms, trying to look completely neutral. "How long did it take you to rehearse that?"

"Three hours," Clint said happily, at the same time that Natasha huffed something about it being a remarkably spontaneous performance. Bucky knew who he believed more.

The second the kitchen door swung open, Bucky pounced on Maria, taking a slice of the dessert she held. He snatched the coffee and a fork before anyone could laugh at him and headed over to the window. "Here you go, hot as promised. Prepare to have your mind blown."

Steve smiled, watching the brunet as he slid the plate over. It was excruciatingly hard not to look at the man's lips as he ate a mouthful of the pie, and harder still to remain stagnant as Steve's eyes rolled back and he let out a pleasured groan. "God, you were right. This is  _amazing_ ," he sighed, hurriedly eating another bite. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the plate, mouth turning down at the corners. "I'm an addict now, aren't I?"

"Hey, at least it's not cocaine."

When Steve laughed this time, he looked up at Bucky and it was like static crackling between them. "I don't think I'm going to mind coming here for my daily fix."

And Bucky didn't mind either. Each day Steve would come into Stark's and order an Americano, as well as either pecan pie or whatever Bucky recommended, and Bucky secretly prayed that Clint would never be allowed on the registers again just so he could experience that smile a little longer.

Some days he'd lurk by the counter and make conversation with Bucky and Nat and Clint and Maria and once the teasing subsided, they all loved him being there too. Probably not as much as Bucky did, but he'd take what he could get.

The thing about Steve was that he always seemed genuinely interested in what everyone had to say. When Bucky would rant about annoying customers, or the weather, or Natasha, the blonde would listen and nod and from the look in his eyes it was clear that he cared. He'd ask questions about where Bucky grew up (they bonded over their shared Brooklyn-based childhood) and what his favourite colour was and how he liked his coffee and Bucky was certain he'd never fallen for anyone faster. He was in deep, and he knew it, but it was okay. Because Steve was beautiful and gentle and good, and if Bucky just stamped out the fire in his veins when their eyes met he could deal with it.

It was painfully obvious to his coworkers from day one that he was into Steve, so he could only imagine how he looked now that he knew the kind of person the taller man was. Bucky was almost certain that Steve knew, and was just neglecting to address the situation for the sake of pecan pie. And Bucky  _respected_  that.

Natasha didn't.

She was like a conniving little weasel, always plotting to get them alone together. It would not have surprised Bucky in the slightest if she had an entire game-plan typed up and stored on seven separate hard-drives.

"I'm leaving now," Natasha said one night, voice dripping with purpose. It was dark out, probably around seven, and Steve was still in the cafe because he and the brunet had lost track of time discussing their favourite books. She looked up at Bucky meaningfully through her lashes. "You boys have fun."

The redhead disappeared out the door and Bucky blushed as he swept the floors. "Y'know," he began after a few moments of silence. "I was supposed to close up like an hour ago."

"Jesus, Bucky! Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have held you up this long if I'd known that!" Steve stressed. It was adorable, really, how he fretted over such abysmally significant things.

"Do you really think that I would hesitate kicked you out if I was that desperate to go home?" Bucky chuckled, slipping out of the room briefly to put away the broom and dustpan. "Just, I enjoyed talking to you so much I worked overtime, is all. Tony would be proud."

Steve smiled softly, propping his chin on his hand. He was sitting at at table, sketchbook abandoned long ago and all attention on the barista before him while the latter fussed about behind the register. (Of course, Steve had offered to assist in cleaning the place up, being the chivalrous gentleman he was, but Bucky had refused, being the chivalrous gentleman  _he_  was.) "I've been meaning to ask about that. Tony Stark, as in  _multi-billionaire Tony Stark_ , owns this place?"

"Yep. Weird, huh? Truth is, he acts like this fancy, stuck-up, I-only-eat-caviar-off-solid-gold-silverware kind of asshole - which, in all fairness, he  _is_. But he also loves nothing more than a home-style pastry and an artisan latte to start his day. Says it reminds him of his mom, or something. So he bought this place, and invested zero money whatsoever in fixing it up. He's a pretty odd dude, but decent all the same. I'd never tell him, but I'm glad I know the guy."

"How'd you end up working here?"

Bucky froze for a second, then shook himself off. "He needed someone to work here, I owed him a few favours."

Steve didn't probe any further, which Bucky appreciated endlessly. He followed wordlessly as Bucky switched off the lights and locked up the doors, and not for a second did it feel awkward.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, huh?" Bucky said sheepishly, tossing his keys into the air. The wind was ruffling Steve's blonde hair adorably and Bucky was afraid that if he looked at the taller man any longer he wouldn't be able to help himself from kissing the him stupid. So he was grateful when Steve gave a small nod and a smile and a wave, heart soaring as he walked down the dark street.

"Bucky, wait," Steve called out suddenly. Bucky turned back around, confusion written all over his face. "I, uh... how are you getting home? It's kinda dark and I'd hate for my favourite barista to be kidnapped or murdered or something."

"I was planning on walking. It's not too far, I should be fine," Bucky said.  _Your concern is adorable and I want to make out with you in an alleyway_ , he didn't say. For obvious reasons.

"Let me drive you home. It's the least I can do, considering all those muffins you've shouted me," said Steve, wearing a sincere expression.

"You sure? It's just a few blocks away."

"Yes, I'm sure. C'mon." Steve waved him over, and all the shorter man could do was trail blindly. It was cool, and the pavement was wet with spring rain, and it took all of Bucky's focus not to slip over due to the dizzy spell he seemed to be under since he realized that he was Steve's favourite barista. They turned a corner and the blonde stopped before a sleek navy motorcycle, leaning on it proudly.

"You ride a motorbike?" Bucky shook his head with a fond smile. "Of course you do."

Not bothering to ask what that meant, Steve just gave a wry grin, swung a leg over the bike, and patted the space behind him. Bucky took a second to gape, before thinking  _aw, to hell with it_  and hopping on. He rattled off his address with his mouth far too close to Steve's ear when asked; wrapped an arm around his slim waist upon instruction.

It felt dream-like, speeding down the shadowed roads, pressed up against Steve's back. Bucky sighed into the wind. If he'd known a few months ago that this blonde bombshell was going to enter his life and knock him off his feet, he probably would've called in sick that day (even though Tony would be able to see through his lies from miles away). There was no way he could halt the development of his hopeless crush while seeing him in all his perfection every day, so it would have been much less painful to just have never laid eyes on him in the first place. Although, it wouldn't have done much good anyway considering the man was now a regular.

Still. Bucky's feelings were spiralling out of control, far past casual crush territory. And it was  _dangerous_. But as he rested his forehead gingerly on one of the broad shoulders before him, he thought that maybe it was worth it. Little moments like these, he could live off.

The trip was over frustratingly fast, and it was with great reluctance that the brunet peeled himself off of Steve. "Told you it wasn't far," he teased, admiring how good the blonde looked draped on that motorbike, arms crossed and body language relaxed. And he was looking up at him through his dreadfully dark lashes, which was totally unfair.

"Well, I enjoyed all two seconds of it," joked Steve, and there was something in his eyes that Bucky couldn't place. They remained stationary, gazing at each other in the biting evening breeze, until the pressure was too great and Bucky tore himself away.

"I better get inside," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks for the ride, Steve. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Anytime."

Then Steve was off, with a smile that engraved itself into Bucky's brain.

He tossed and turned that night, not able to keep Steve off his mind. And of course Natasha teased him mercilessly the next day about the bags under his eyes ("up late, huh?").

They bickered more than usual that day, and it probably had something to do with the fact that Bucky was certain that this was a little more than a crush. He thanked his lucky stars when Bruce walked in, because if anything was going to shut Natasha up it was him. Maybe Bucky was just jealous of their relationship, but it was almost ridiculous how she softened whenever he showed up, considering how guarded she usually was. He hoped he didn't look at Steve like that.

"Lay off him, Nat," Bruce said after about five thousand chiding comments from the redhead and twice as many glances at the door from Bucky. "We can't all be as confident as you. He'll make a move in his own time."

"His own time is  _never_ , Bruce!"

"And that's his own choice. You want him to be happy, yeah?" Bruce asked calmly. His girlfriend pursed her lips and nodded stiffly. Bucky watched as the man gently touched her forearm, showing his affection in a careless manner that Bucky envied. "Then leave him be."

There was a pause before Natasha huffed out a reluctant ' _fine_ ,' and Bucky grinned. "You're a lifesaver, Banner!" He pressed a sloppy kiss to the other man's cheek, causing Nat to swat him on the forehead, but he regretted nothing.

"So when will I get to meet this Steve of yours?" Bruce asked, wiping his face with the back of his hand. And as if on cue, Steve walked into the coffee shop, looking as good as ever. His tight, white tee was covered in charcoal, and so were his jeans, and it was so endearing Bucky thought he might explode. The smile that immediately stretched across his face might have torn him apart, if the presence of someone beside Steve hadn't come to Bucky's attention.

Reluctantly tearing his eyes from blonde hair and broad shoulders, he was met with a handsome man with dark skin and a muscular build and a hand on Steve's arm and fuck, Bucky was freaking out.

"Steve," Bucky nodded calmly. He wasn't going to let an assumption ruin his day, at least not until he got home and he could blame his emotions on The Notebook. This probably wasn't Steve's boyfriend, and he had no right to be upset if it was. "Any preferences today? Maria just made some kickass caramel slice."

"Just an Americano to go, please, Bucky. And - what do you want?" Steve turned to look at the man beside him, and something inside Bucky broke. Steve  _never_ got takeaway.

"Six years. You've known me for  _six years_  and you still don't know how I like my coffee," huffed the man, crossing his arms stubbornly. Bucky gave Nat a miserable frown now that Steve was distracted, to which she pursed her lips and shrugged. "I'll take a vanilla latte with whipped cream. Lots and lots of whipped cream."

"Sure," Bucky said coolly. He refused to look at Steve, or the man beside him, for fear of his jealousy being showcased clear on his face, and settled for staring at the counter. It was a little bit ridiculous, he could admit that much, because not only was this guy completely out of his league, but he'd also never so much as looked at Bucky twice. Getting his hopes up even slightly had been a very poor decision on Bucky's behalf.

"You're so dramatic, Sam," Steve exasperated, albeit fondly. Bucky's ears pricked up at that, and his posture straightened.  _Sam_. Steve's best friend and coworker. Steve's  _just_  friend and coworker. Steve's  _completely platonic_  friend and coworker  _who was_   _straight_! He almost let out a visible sigh of relief at the recognition, but managed to keep his internal celebration internal. "Anyway, Bucky, this is Sam; Sam, this is Bucky."

"Hey," Bucky greeted happily. The roll of Natasha's eyes was so heavy it was practically an earthquake, but whatever. Bucky swore he could feel the  _you-are-so-obvious-it's-repulsive_  vibes rolling off of her in waves.

Sam nodded, an aloof glint in his eye as he studied Bucky up and down.

The barista turned his attention to Steve, meeting his stunning azure eyes for the first time that day. "So, uh, Steve. You finished reading A Clockwork Orange yet?"

"No, not yet, but  _God_ , what I've read so far is absolutely horrific!" Steve emphasized what he was saying with extravagant hand gestures. "Who on  _earth_  would think to make it into a film? No one needs to visualize that!"

"The movie's pretty good, actually," said Bucky carefully.

"Yeah?" He seemed to hesitate, if only for a moment or two. "Maybe... maybe when I'm done with the book we could watch it sometime?"

Bucky just about choked on his own surprise. "Yeah, uh," he managed. "That would be nice."

A wide grin bloomed on Sam's face, his eyes darting maniacally between his friend and the barista. He and Natasha exchanged a knowing look as she slid the disposable (and recyclable - no one ever said that Tony Stark wasn't an environmentalist) cups across the counter. "Oh.  _Now_  I get why you come here every day."

Steve blushed a beautiful crimson and snatched up his drink, muttering a hasty 'bye' before dragging the other man out the door by the back of his shirt.

Bucky stared at his retreating figure, longing for him to come back. "That was weird."

"Oh my God, James. You are so completely, unbelievably,  _irreparably_ stupid," Natasha groaned, and Bruce didn't deny her claims. Wondering idly what he was missing, Bucky snatched a cookie from the jar on the counter and took a thoughtful bite. Bruce muttered something about how bad Bucky had it, but it's not like the barista really heard. He was miles away, smiling subconsciously around the chocolate chips.

"You reckon he actually wants to watch that movie with me?"

"So, so stupid," Nat scolded, hitting Bucky on the back of the head on her way into the kitchen.

It turned out Steve did want to. The next Friday he graced the shop he sidled up to the counter, a nervous hint to his presence, and asked if Bucky was free the following night. Bucky was, thankfully, although if he had been busy there were no guarantees he wouldn't have cancelled. He'd blushed and laughed and it was all sickeningly adorable, according to Nat. Of course she made a big deal of it, fussing about in Bucky's wardrobe all Saturday. Despite the mess she left in her wake, Bucky couldn't bring himself to care, because now he had Steve's number and he was going to spend the evening tucked up against him on his sofa. He was excited and nervous and absolutely beside himself. Logically, he knew it wasn't a date ( _right_?), but that didn't stop him from letting Nat dress him up.

"There." She studied her finished product, looking cocky and proud. With a single raised finger she motioned for him to spin, and although he felt ridiculous he did as she pleased. Her arms folded over her chest and a stubborn smirk signalled that her work here was done. "I'm a  _genius_."

"Jesus, Nat, it's an outfit, not the goddamn Rosetta stone," he said with a roll of his eyes. He wasn't about to admit it to her, but these  _were_  his best fitting jeans, and the navy sweater may or may not have complimented the blue in his eyes. It was with a gentle bump of their shoulders that he showed his gratitude, and she responded with a light punch on his shoulder.

"Go on, loverboy. Seduce him with your knowledge of the least sexy film ever."

Bucky stuck out his tongue at her, then slipped from the apartment without bothering to lock up. Natasha had a key, and she'd leave when she felt like it.

Steve's house wasn't too far from Bucky's apartment block, really. Just a few minutes down the road in his beat up old Chevy. The drive didn't give him nearly enough time to compose himself properly, but there was no way to subtly freak out in the driveway, so he was forced to make do with the pointers Natasha gave him for 'keeping calm in stressful situations' (although her version of that phase contained many more innuendos).

It was a nice house, albeit quaint, with a lush lawn and a neglected flower bed. It was painted a warm yellow, giving it a cheerful, lived-in appearance, and the glow behind the curtained windows suggested that Steve was home. Bucky took a deep breath as he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door.

The haste with which Steve answered made Bucky smile, as did his soft, comfortable attire. "Bucky," he said, almost breathlessly. His hair was tousled, like he'd been running his hands through it. "Come in."

"Thanks," Bucky grinned, hands in his pockets and eyes on the floor as he shuffled past Steve's large frame. "Nice house."

"Thank you." Steve led him into his living room, which was warm and tidy and so very  _Steve_  it almost hurt. The blonde stood awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I, uh... I ordered a pizza. Hope you like pepperoni."

"You sure know the way to my heart, Rogers."

Steve smiled, bright and toothy, and Bucky's nerves melted away. They sat down too closely on the couch, and conversation flowed like they'd known each other for years. Neither paid much attention to the film once it was on, more focused on the other's comedic commentary, or conversation about the best pizza places, or the brush of their thighs as Bucky edged closer (he blamed it on gravity, of course - Steve was two hundred odd pounds of muscle, it was plausible) than the ultra-violence depicted. It should have been weird, talking about childhood pets while a fifteen year old was tortured on the screen before them, but it wasn't.

When the pizza arrived, Bucky couldn't help it when their hands brushed while reaching for a slice, nor could he be help the blush that crept up his neck. The discussion continued seamlessly, and Steve was touching Bucky's thigh, and Natasha was going to  _die_  when he told her about his night.

Before they knew it, it was nearing midnight, and the credits had finished rolling long ago. "Damn," Bucky said with a frown. "I should probably get going."

Steve frowned too. "Yeah, okay." But he didn't make any move to get up, and neither did Bucky. "We should, um," the taller man started eventually. He looked up at Bucky with those dazzling eyes, placing a hand gently on his forearm. "We should do this again some time."

"Yes. Yeah. I'd like that a lot," Bucky gushed, feeling the blood rush to his face at his embarrassingly fast reply. 

Then he stiffened, realizing that it was his left arm that Steve's hand was resting on. All he could do was take a shaky breath as he felt the confused gaze boring into his side.

"It's a prosthetic, y'know," Bucky said, squeezing his fingers into a fist so they wouldn't quake with nerves. Of course, Steve almost definitely knew that it was a prosthetic, because possessing a metal limb wasn't exactly the subtlest trait. But Steve had never mentioned it, because he was patient and understanding and damn it, Bucky was head over heels. "Car accident. Neither of my parents made it, and Stark... he understood. Made the arm for me free of charge."

Steve traced his fingers down to the back of Bucky's metal hand with a question in his eyes, and the brunet nodded. His touch was delicate as he took Bucky's hand in his own, studying the silver plates with both his gentle fingertips and his cerulean eyes. He pushed the sleeve of Bucky's shirt up his forearm, a look of wonder on his face. Bucky felt the urge to shiver under his scrutiny, like he could feel the sweep of his gaze on the bionic surface.

"It's beautiful," Steve mused, meeting Bucky's frightened eyes. The intensity behind his expression cut into Bucky's soul, and he exhaled sharply as Steve's hand slid down to rest over his metal fingers. "You're beautiful."

"Steve..." he gasped quietly, searching that perfect face for any trace of dishonesty. But there was none there, and Bucky felt his guard shatter as he fell. He inched forward, until he could feel Steve's breath softly on his face, until he was close enough to-

"Steve?" Sam's voice called from outside, followed by the sound of keys rattling in the lock.

Steve cursed under his breath. Bucky had a light chuckle at that, because he never thought he'd hear someone like Steve swear. "Yeah, Sam, over here." He looked up at Bucky with eyes that said  _I'm so sorry about this_.

"Dude! You promised to call so I could get out of dinner with Fury-" Sam was saying as he burst through the front door, stopping short when he saw the two men on the couch. A stupid grin crawled onto his face. "Oh, man, I totally just crashed your date. Sorry, I hope I didn't..." He paused for dramatic effect, wiggling his eyebrows like crazy. "... interrupt anything."

"Nah, it's okay. I was just leaving," Bucky said. He tried not to think about how he was pretty sure Steve had been about to kiss him. Or how Steve had called him beautiful. Or how Sam said that this was a  _date_. 

Steve walked him to the door (after first giving Sam the finger, of course), leaning against the frame with stupidly sexy effortlessness. "I'm sorry about him. I never should have given him a key."

"'S no problem." Bucky scuffed the toe of his shoe on the porch anxiously. "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too, Bucky.

"So, um, I'll see you tomorrow?" His eyes flicked up hopefully.

Steve nodded. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Bucky thanked him again for the pizza and movie, then headed back to his car. He pulled his coat tightly around himself, although it was majorly unnecessary. The warmth in his chest overpowered the chill of night easily.

"Oh, and Bucky?" Steve called out. Bucky turned, and was met with a sweet, shy smile. "Text me when you get home. So I know you got there safe."

Bucky grinned so wide it hurt. "The very second I shut the front door, you'll be the first to know."

The message he sent said ' _safe and sound :)_ ,' to which Steve texted ' _are you really safe and sound without checking the house for murderers? I expect an update on each room you inspect or I'll assume you've been killed_.' Despite being alone in his apartment, Bucky laughed aloud at the message. He did as he was asked, commenting upon the intruder status of each room, which inevitably lead to a conversation that went on far too long considering the early hour. Steve left with a promise of texting Bucky in the morning, and the brunet went to sleep with an impossible grin on his face.

He did, of course, text Bucky the next morning. And the morning after that, and the one after that, and the one after  _that_ , until they were practically constantly messaging.

"He called me beautiful, Nat," Bucky sighed in frustrated exasperation a few days later. " _After_  I showed him my arm. He still thinks I'm beautiful after he saw how broken I am."

"You're not broken," Nat replied, voice laced with fondness. It was a momentous occasion, really (especially considering how fed up she was with his constant gushing) because Natasha rarely expressed more than a frown at the best of times. "And Bucky, why are you still talking about this, it's been like a week since - wait a second. You told him about the crash?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't tell  _me_  about it for like a year!" Clint piped.

"No need to get jealous, Barton," grinned Bucky. He looked down at his hands, and for the first time since the crash, he thought that maybe he wasn't damaged property after all. Because if Steve - the epitome of gorgeous, inside and out - thought that Bucky was worth something, then surely he was. "God, he's so perfect."

"Who's so perfect?" Steve asked, apparently appearing out of thin air. Or maybe Bucky had just been too distracted by his daydreams to notice the ring of the door. It was up for debate.

"Steve!" Bucky smiled against his own will. Then he panicked. It wasn't like he could tell this guy - this absolutely  _flawless_ guy that he maybe had a kind-of thing with - that he was so head over heels that there was almost no conversation topic he was capable of discussing anymore that didn't revolve around him (Bucky was certain that Nat and Clint had made a game out of it). So he settled for awkward stuttering instead, looked around desperately for a way out.

Unfortunately for him, it was Clint who provided him with his solution. "He was talking about you," he supplied helpfully, humming as he dried the coffee mugs by the sink with a damp tea-towel.

Bucky shot Clint his best  _I'm going to kill you_  glare, which went utterly unnoticed, before looking reluctantly back to Steve. Much to his surprise, Steve didn't seem spooked, or panicked, or angry. He looked honest-to-God  _ecstatic_ , grinning from ear to ear and blue eyes sparkling. Bucky's heart stopped for a few seconds. "I really wish he hadn't said that," the brunet said, looking away again.

"You think I'm perfect?" The man exasperated in disbelief. Which Bucky felt the urge to call bullshit on immediately, because as if someone that jaw-droppingly stunning could be oblivious to their own charms.

"Yes. Moving on. Americano, as usual? It's on the house. How about a complimentary brownie or two? Great. I'll bring it to your table when it's ready," Bucky said quickly, cheeks burning. Steve nodded, a smile on his face that shone in his eyes, and headed for his usual window seat. "Thanks a lot, Barton."

"Okay, first of all, you should be thanking me. He totally wants to get in your pants and now he knows that you want to get in his too," Clint said, pointing at Bucky with a spatula. "Secondly, that's what you get for liking him better than me. I'm awesome." Then he turned back to the sink, muttering 'so awesome' under his breath.

"He's right, y'know," Nat grinned wryly. "Rogers has it bad."

"Shut up. Both of you," sighed Bucky, rubbing his temples. They were going to give him a migraine at this rate. "I don't know how I put up with you."

"You're lucky to have us," scoffed Nat. Bucky knew she was right, but he wasn't about to validate the statement verbally. He still had his pride.

At least, he  _did_. Then Natasha wordlessly scooped up Steve's coffee in one hand and a plate of brownies in the other, face so blank Bucky almost wasn't phased by the action, but when he realized what was happening he made a desperate reach that the redhead avoided effortlessly. He groaned loudly, making Clint grin. Watching in horror as she approached the table, he counted down the seconds until unavoidable disaster.

Nat leaned in close to the blonde, who looked up from his sketchbook with a confused expression. Steve's eyes flitted over to Bucky briefly, then Nat had his full attention. She whispered something too low for Bucky to hear, and that was certaintly the death of him.

"Clint, I swear, this time I'm actually going to kill her," said Bucky, crushing a disposable coffee cup in his metal hand.

"Please, we both know you wouldn't hurt a fly." Though his back was turned, Bucky knew Clint was rolling his eyes. He threw the destroyed takeaway cup at the back of Clint's head, because he deserved to be proved wrong.

Bucky pestered Natasha like a mosquito when she returned, buzzing around her anxiously. But no matter what he did - begging, threatening, bargaining - she refused to reveal exactly what she'd said to Steve. Vague comments were all she offered, and Bucky was  _not_  in the mood for riddles. Her case wasn't exactly supported when Steve gave her a wink and a thumbs up on his way out.

"What the  _fuck_  was that, Nat?" He growled, watching Steve's retreating figure through the window.

"Chill out, I'm not moving in on your man," Nat said, a hint of amusement behind her eyes. That entertained spark didn't leave her for the rest of the day, even as Clint waved goodbye and the redhead started closing up. Tony always said that a humoured Natasha meant that she knew something you didn't, and, when faced with one, to escape as quickly as possible. Bucky was beginning to understand what he meant by that as dread pooled in his stomach at the smirk she gave him. "I'm going home," she said without warning.

"Natasha," cautioned Bucky carefully, scanning the room for potential threats. "What did you do?"

"I'll see you tomorrow," she laughed, and Bucky was absolutely sure that something was going to happen. Slipping out the door without a trace, Natasha left Bucky to his own devices (which was extremely rude considering she was on cleaning duty too).

He busied himself by silently conspiring as he cleared the dirty plates off the empty tables. 'Planting an intricate prank and several video cameras' was at the top of his list of possibilities currently, but he wouldn't put anything past his best friend. Steve was probably in on it, and Bruce, and  _Tony_. If Tony had anything to do with it, he was totally screwed. That man could make Bucky slap himself in the face with a push of a button. Considering this, Bucky decided that he gave the inventor far too much power, and lost himself in the rhythm of washing dishes while brainstorming ways to get a regular prosthetic that Tony Stark could not get his oil-stained hands on.

Then the bell rang, and Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin.

His panicked eyes met with the familiar broad shoulders and tousled blonde hair and ocean blue eyes of his favourite customer (and possibly person too - Nat was sinking fast). "Steve!" He exclaimed. Wiping the suds on his hands onto his apron, Bucky rounded the counter and tilted his head in confusion. "What're you doing here? Scared the living daylights outta me."

Steve nervously shifted his weight before taking a step towards the barista. "Sorry," he chuckled, though it didn't feel as authentic as usual. It was thick with anxiety and something else he couldn't place.

"Did you leave something behind?" Bucky questioned. He was sure he hadn't seen that battered sketchbook lying around anywhere, but his mind was void of any other reason for Steve to arrive so late. Especially considering he'd only left about three hours ago.

"Something like that."

Bucky's brow furrowed. "Steve, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I just..." Steve let out a shaky breath, ran a hand through his golden hair, then met Bucky's eyes timidly. "Listen, Bucky, correct me if I'm wrong, but..."

Then Steve took another step forward, until the pair were almost chest to chest. His hands ever so slowly reached up to cup Bucky's face, touch so gentle it was barely there. A breath caught in Bucky's throat, not daring to escape into the tightly-wound tension between them. There was a question on Steve's face as he leaned in close enough for the brunet to see the dashes of green in his eyes, pausing before the inevitable crashing of lips.

"You are  _definitely_  not wrong," whispered Bucky, arms snaking around the taller man's waist. Steve smiled, nudged Bucky's nose with his own, then pressed his mouth against Bucky's. And,  _God_ , was it better than Bucky ever imagined. Steve's lips were the softest thing he'd ever felt, and his thumbs were brushing circles onto his cheeks, and Bucky's heart might just explode. It was the kind of tender, unforgettable kiss that would keep Bucky up at night for weeks on end. His brain could barely take it, seeming to short-circuit every few seconds. He hummed into the kiss, moving his hands up Steve's abdomen so his palms rested on that firm chest. Though it was sweet, there was certainly a passion there, Bucky could taste it, and he tested the waters by parting his lips ever so slightly. Steve jumped at the opportunity, sliding his hands into Bucky's hair and slipping his tongue past Bucky's lips like it belonged there.

Then, suddenly, Bucky was seated on the counter, with Steve standing between his legs, which were locked at the ankles behind the taller man's hips. Steve's hands migrated to Bucky's thighs, and Bucky's into that soft blonde hair, and they were kissing like they were starving. Bucky thought that maybe he was, maybe he'd been waiting for Steve to come along his whole life.

It was with great reluctance that Steve broke away, chest heaving and face radiant. Bucky felt a warm sensation in his stomach that was begging him to say something dangerous. "God, Steve," Bucky breathed instead. "That was..."

"Breathtaking," panted Steve, a timid smile crossing his features. The corners of Bucky's mouth turned up almost subconsciously. Their foreheads were pressed together, so Bucky could feel Steve's soft breaths on his lips. "Been wanting to do that for months."

"You're joking," Bucky deadpanned. " _Months_? We could have been doing that for  _months_?"

Steve laughed that intoxicating laugh that made Bucky weak at the knees. He tightened his grip on the blonde to compensate. "Better late than never."

A smirk pulled at Bucky's lips as his finger traced up Steve's neck. "Guess we should make up for lost time, though, right?"

"Most definitely."

Bucky tilted his head fractionally, so his lips brushed Steve's when he spoke. "Nat told you I was closing, didn't she?"

"Yep," said Steve, stealing a chaste kiss. "I'll be thanking her profusely tomorrow."

"Don't you  _dare_. Her head's big enough as it is." (Of course, Steve completely ignored the request the next day, but that was irrelevant.)

Steve kissed Bucky again, eyes closed and smiling, and Bucky's heart skipped a beat.

"Hey, Steve?" Bucky said, biting his lip. "I think I'm a little bit in love with you."

"Yeah?" Steve said, brushing a thumb thoughtfully across Bucky's cheek, face dominated by a blinding smile. "I think I love you too."

It was in that moment that Bucky saw how utterly, terribly, unspeakably right Natasha had been when she said that he could be even happier. He was overwhelmingly happy, it was oozing out of him in waves. And while Stark's had always been his home, his safe place, his sanctuary, now it was something even more precious, because it was here that Bucky met Steve Rogers. 


End file.
